Just Walk Through The Doors
by LordOxen
Summary: In the unaltered ME timeline, Shepard failed and the Reapers won.  I, a Swedish highschool student, is somehow transported to the events of ME2 to change that fact.  Because I'm "special".   Who could have known a subway ride home would be so eventful?
1. I: No trains stop at Fridhemsplan

**A/N. All characters locations, etc. that aren't my own belong to Bioware. Norra Real high school belongs to the Stockholm municipality. **

**I do not own the universe of Mass Effect in any way. Please do not sue me, oh thee wondrous gods at Bioware. Please :(.**

**Anyway, check it out or I'll send my estonian mafia connections to you. They know where you live! **

**Finding it shouldn't be too difficult finding it considering that it's his only fanfic. And by him, I'm referring to ****iNf3ctioNZ****.**

**Basically, this is a self insert fanfic.**

**Do not distress if the Story picks up pace dramatically in the 3rd Chapter, and is abit slow up until that point.  
**

**Start reading my story. Now. **

**Please review. **

**JUST WALK THROUGH THE DOORS**

_**I: No trains stop at Fridhemsplan**_

* * *

**_9th September 2185, A day After the Cerberus Investigation into the attack on Freedom's Progress: UNKONWN CERBERUS FACILITY _- 13:37 PM**

"_An nescis, mi fili, quantilla prudentia mundus regatur_ _". _

He recited the words aloud, and pressed the cigarette he held between his fingertipsdown down into the ash tray. The man obsessively lighted another one, the blue and red light of the star behind him illuminating his pale hands as he did. His eyes were glowing with the same light blue, inhuman intensity, complementing the glow of the stellar backdrop.

_To a superstitious man I must look like some kind of specter. A deamon of the undead. _

"Count Axel Oxenstierna, one of the most important figures during the Thirty Years' War. Swedish Lord High Chancellor under the King Gustavus Adolphus."

_Speaking of spectres, _the man thought dryly. Snorting a little at his own poor joke.

"Do you not know, my son, with how little wisdom the world is governed?" The first man concurred, nodding and nonchalantly moved a cigarette to his lips. A moment passed, the man taking a blow on his cigarette.

"I see you know your 17th century European history Commander." A slight, calculated pause – for the drama no doubt. "Words to live by, no?"

"Using historical quotes to describe your motives is more than a little redundant, as well as pointless – especially since I've already decided to cooperate with you."

The newly lit cigarette was brutally crushed against the ashtray. _Not so lit anymore. _A cruel smile.

_I brought you back for the frontline work. Stick to it . _A smile on the ghostly figure's lips.

A long, dramatic pause. The man in the chair evidently housed quite a fondness for them. He reclined in his chair, crossing his right leg over his left one.

Then he began to speak.

"Shepard, I have a new Dossier for you...".

* * *

**_8th September 2010: EARTH, EUROPEAN UNION, SWEDEN, STOCKHOLM, NORRA REAL HIGH SCHOOL__ - _13:37 PM**_  
_

"So how did the test go man?" Frans asked me as we walked away from the class where we'd both been taking our "English A" course exams. The sun is setting, it must be over 5 PM.

"Better than for you." I answered, half smiling. If I score anything under 95% of this, I'll be monstruously dissapointed in myself. It was a god damn walk in the park.

He cracked one of his corny, albeit incredibly warm laughs at that.

"Haha, no way man. You know I'm the King. By definition."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Indeed?".

"Deep down, you know it's true. You all do!"

He's starting to almost rant, using that lunatic "I'm the only sane one left!" tone. For a split second there I can't seem to be 100% sure that he's kidding.

I just give him one of my trademark half smiles as an answer.

Frans almost looks dissapointed at this, his eyes turning to the floor slightly, seemingly sad that I choose to terminate our amusing trade of meaningless phrases.

We roam the deserted halls of _Norra Real high school_, the light brown marble columns and large, empty, almost palatial halls having a slightly gloomy, creepy feeling to them. The warm orange light from the setting sun outside negates the creepiness somewat though, as it illuminates the interior. Our footsteps echo in the halls. Hmm, turns out school isn't so desterted after all - I hear another pair of feet running towards us, out of sync with mine and Frans' walk. It's the teacher responsible for the chess club who of course says good bye to us in English (as always) for no particular reason. What is it with the abundance of wannabe British swedes anyway? Seriously? Sure, everybody loves Monthy Python, and James Bond probably constitutes the epitome of male kickassness but... please. Stop raping your own nationality for pie's sake! For a moment I consider whether I should turn around and yell "impostor!" after him... as I heard him speak swedish to one of the other teachers in the corridor this morning. I always thought something was wrong with that accent of his...

We reach the stairway leading down from the second floor and proceed down, towards the entrance. Before we reach the first floor though, something very unexpected happens. I hear thunder.. I move up the stairway again to the nearest window, situated in between the first and second floors.

I look out. A flash of purple lightning. The skies have turned gray. I hear the tapping of raindrops starting to... tap against the roof and windows. Allright, this is all becoming rather eerie...

"Frans?" I call out.

No response.

"Frans?"

I look around, and it seems as if he's mysteriously vanished from the face of the earth.

He must be playing a prank on me... That sneaky bastard is probably secretely laughing his arse off, waiting to drop out from behind one of the many benches down in the entry hall screaming "Gaaa-harggg" or some other similarily creative phrase.

I hate that prick right now, he knows I'm more easily scared than a five year old girl scout. Okay, so maybe that analogy didn't make much sense. Well it doesn't have to, this whole thing is freaking me out!

"Frans, come out right now or I'll... do something!" I yell, quite pathetically.

Still no response.

That's it, I'm going home – to be incredibly cliché, I didn't sign up for this shit.

"Ey, man, I'm leaving you on your own here, see you tomorrow."

This is seriosuly weird. I'd never admit it, but I'm scared to... well, really, really frightened.

I start to walk out from the school "atrium" if you will. Before I exit the main entrance though, I turn around for one last time. The school's quasi symbol, a pair of horses is standing there, the pale fake marble statues seem to be almost glowing. Wait...

Are one of the horses are looking at me? It's eye seems fixed on my person. Oh my god.

"Yeah, what are you looking at?" I stutter, nervously. Talking to a statue, way to go Alex. No, correction– getting scared while talking to a statue. Even better. Bloody brilliant.

I really need to go home, Frans can burn in hell for all I care – a second longer in here, and he won't be the only thing vanishing... (he'll be joined by my sanity... wherever he went).

I shake my head and walk down the final set of stairs from the atrium to the front doors. "You really need to chill out Alex..." I tell myself as I open the door, seeing the dark, rainy world outside I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. It's good to be out of there. Even if I'm changing one weird environment that's not how it's supposed to be for another, at least I'm not trapped here.

How could it start raining in the first place? I'm as certain of there being clear skies only five minutes ago as I am of... something I'm very certain of.

Coming up with good analogies when you're scared is rather difficult.

Now it's just a couple of minutes walk to the metro station. The steady, no, thunderous fall of raindrops on the street is all around me, as if punishing the world for our sins.

As I walk the streets, I notice that they are completely deserted.

"Keep yourself together Alex, it's late, it's raining, you only slept four hours." I tell myself aloud. So, now we're talking to ourselves. Again.

Gee, man what a clear sign of splendid mental health! Hmm, is that a step up or down from the statues though, I wonder fleetingly...

I finally arrive at the metro station, and see the dark blue "T" sign plastered on a white lamp, for _Tunnelbana. _

I walk down the completely deserted subway entrance, through the typical, yellow tiled subterranean metro tunnel leading to the turnstiles, which in turn lead down to the platform.

There's a distinct lack of people around me.

Allright, something is definitely weird... this place is never abandoned. Not even at midnight. Especially not at midnight...

I take up my wallet, flash my access card towards the turnstile sensor thingy... there. It beeps, and dutifully opens itself to allow me passage through. I take the stairs down to the platform.

Where are all the people? It's only 5:o clock?

Finally!

There's one guy sitting on a bench, rougly in the middle of the platform...alone. I'm not really sure if being alone with him here is more or less scary than being ...completely alone. Be careful what you wish for... sigh.

Wait! I look at the man.

No... it can't be. I walk over to him. I must be seeing things, this just can't be true.

"You really need to sleep more Alex..." I mentally slap myself for speaking outloud, having alerted the stranger to my prescence. He stand up, slowly, and mysteriously looks at me.

I must be dreaming.

My eyes tell me that a turian, in full blue turian ceremonial attire, similar to what the Turian Councillor wears in Mass Effect is standing right infront of me.

But that can't be right. No. It can't be. I blink two times.

The turian is gone.

To say that I am relieved would be the understatement of the century.

Duly noted, playing Lair of the Shadow Broker until 3 in the morning can potentially make Alexander **** see turians. Heh, I ought to do that more often...

I crack a dry smile at my own joke. After I blinked, it seems like people are appearing out of nowhere. Suddenly, the metro platform is hustling and bustling with life. I even see a couple of guys from my french class there.

I wave and say hello. If I'd been relieved at the myserious turian dissapearing, that is nothing compared to what I feel now.

After not too long, my train arrives. I board it.

Thank god! There are actually people on it, real people. I smile, looking almost as if I've seen god.

I'm not crazy! Hooah!

I take a seat close to one of the windows, looking out, seeing the platform speed by in a blur as the train picks up speed and moves away from Rådmansgatan. Home.

It would have been kinda cool if it'd have been real though...

I start to childishly dream about what it'd have been like talking to a real turian... Then my thoughts drift of from there to how I could be with Shepard stopping the Reapers, about all the things I could help the galaxy with with... an asari girlfirend... Miranda Lawsons most well shaped backside...

I loose myself in thought for the next two stops.

When the train arrives at the third stop from _Rådmansgatan _though, I turn my head up from my previous postion of "thoughtfulness" (e.g. looking down in my lap) and look out the window.

"_You are arriving at Fridhemsplan." _The annoying speaker voice informs me in swedish and english.

There's that accent again! That annoying almost british swedish accent! I think I've finally got a name for it! Bredish. Hah.

"_Final stop."._

Wait.

No.

No way. Something is seriously out of place. I am 100 percent certain that, during all of my nine years of using the metro to travel back and forth from school every day, I've never, ever been on a train that stopped at _Fridhemsplan._ They just don't. It's situated right on the middle of the bloody green metro line, why should it be a final stop? For a split second I consider that it might be connected with the turian I saw earlier, but quickly dismiss it as impossible. I was wrong after all.

Wasn't I?

I look out the window.

Yup, definitely _Fridhemsplan, _no aliens, space stations or cool futuristic environments.

The train stops. I walk up to the doors. They open.

I must be dreaming.

Again.

I look back into the train. All the people are gone.

Just walk through the doors Alex. Come on. Blink. Walk through the doors. You're at _Fridhemsplan_.

I groggily walk out the through doors onto what should be the platform, but the whole visual intake is too much for my poor mind to handle.

What greets me is the sight of a metal walkway, surrounded by buildings seemingly suspended in midair. The entire milieu is made out of gray, utilitarian metal... not very creative. I see flashing lights of all colours around me. People. Non human forms.

I blink. Once. Twice. Three times. It won't go away! Why the hell won't it go away! Go away dammit!

My head spins. My vision starts to blur. I fall, and my skull hits the hard metal ground with an audible thud.

It's becoming darker... I can barely tell shapes from each other now...

With my limited vision I see what I think is a batarian looming over me. Is he laughing? Bastard.

As the darkness takes me, my last thoughts are that I was right after all.

_No trains stop at Fridhemsplan_.


	2. II: Never say Yoda

**I own nothing from an established franchise, please don't sue me, I'm not making any money out of this, don't kill me. Longer A/N at the end of the story.**

**Great, let's begin. **

_**II: Never say Yoda**_

_**

* * *

**_

_**9th September 2185: Somewhere I shouldn't be - **_**12:21 PM**_**  
**_

Ouch.

So this is what a hangover feels like.

Not that you'd know Alex…

To say that my head hurts would be like calling Hitler's mustach distinguished.

More bad analogies – at least then there's no doubting the fact I'm truly awake.

Now to get down to business. Time for my brain to do the usual, subconsious task of identifying my environment.

Eh?

How very subconsious of me.

Since you've apparently already failed at the whole subconsious thing, continuing along the same lines won't hurt… ergo… Why the hell is my pillow so hard?

I wouldn't have happened to have turned klingon over the night would I?

At least there are some facts speaking for that deduction, considering that it feels as if I'd have bunked in metal.

Who knows, perhaps I got wasted and ate lots of raw meat, just… staying on the whole big brutish, Klingon out of character track... Heh…

Me, eating raw meat?

Stop the presses, Alexander **** is officially feasting on something besides subways and croissants! Sensational news!

Haha?

Not really, no.

"Just stop thinking about meat you dumbass, something is seriously off!" A small voice in my head reminds me, not too kindly.

Yeah. That's right. Something is seriously off. My pillow feels like lead.

Which has only…happened once before, when this friend of mine –

I mentally bitchslap myself.

In the words of master Obi Wan; Focus on the present young padawan!

On second thought he never said that, did he?

Yoda almost certainly did though…

Yup, Yoda must have at some point…

Or was it Qui Gon…

"You know about Yoda, human?"

Aaaaaaargh!

It's as if all the forces of the universe have grabbed me from underneath, pulling me towards the sky, putting a hand on my windpipe – making the insides of my throat sear in burning pain at the lack of oxygen.

"Open your eyes, you scum!"

O schnap.

I have a really bad feeling about this.

Quite fittingly my eyes snap open – whether at his command or my own thought I don't know though.

I knew it.

I thought I'd never say this – but I wish that I would have been wrong. Just this once… please?

As most of the time lately though, fate seems to go against my wishes.

Brilliant.

It's all coming back to me now, walking home from _Norra_ _Real_, seeing that Turian…

Arriving at a _Fridhemsplan_ that turned out to not to be _fridhemsplan_ at all. Seems like some fundamental answers to a couple of fundamental questions are in order. To begin with – where the hell am I?

My mind is in such a state of chock that I seem to have momentarily forgotten that someone's hands are around my neck.

Judging by the firmness of the grip, I have a vague feeling I might have upset the someone in question.

"Who told you about Yoda?", a booming voice asks me.

My feet are lifted off the ground. The grip around my throat tightens. If my throat had been on fire before, it is now a raging inferno.

Then, through the shrowd of panic that has fallen upon my senses, the fact that the strong scary being suspending me above ground, holding me by my throat just asked me a question dawns on me.

I start to claw away at the person's hands, but the massive size of it's fingers makes it as fruitless as a single raindrop trying to erode a cliff on some cliffy...shore...somewhere.

Being the natural tough guy who never bulges under torture that I am, my first, spontaneous reaction at the failure of my clawing is that I must tell this man everything he wants to know.

Then panic dawns on me. I start to see how the person in question might somehow not appreciate me describing "Yoda" as a kind little green dwarf.

Nonetheless, I can't breath – and since both the herculean man...thing... whatever... holding me and I seem to need myself alive, I remark (being the divine master of creativity I am); "'Aiiiiir".

Hopefully that should give me a couple of seconds to come up with something, some way to stall him further. Or distract him while I do some awesome ninja move I couldn't perform in my wildest dreams and knock my dear assailant out.

I start to panic. Why isn't the pressure on my windpipe diminishing?

Oh yeah. My fellow acquaintance probably doesn't speak Swedish.

I try to say "Air", but it comes out as something more like... "aaiiiiiieagh". Still, it seems to have the desired effect as he lets go off me.

I quickly pull myself together and assess the situation.  
Forced by the realization that efficient use of time is essential, my observational skills jump into action, adrenaline flooding my mind.  
I take a gasp for air.

The first thing I notice is the drastic change in my location compared to when I passed out. The last thing I remember is distinctly being on a metal walkway, having a panoramic view of some unfamiliar cityscape around me, with buildings floating in midair. Now I appear to be stuck at the end of a dirty backalley, all I can see being dark, shabby looking walls in every direction. From what I can tell the architecture is lacking in aesthetic value, and the place is just overall shabby and dilapitated. There's garbage, albeit futuristic garbage in futuristic looking garbage dispensers on the ground all around me – in other words, I'm in a slum.

In the Mass Effect universe.

I quickly force myself to postpone the inevitable whirlwind of emotions that will follow this realization and focus on the present – to make sure that my oppurtunity to stick around and wallow in selfpity later won't permanently dissapear.

I keep pretending to be gasping for air, despite being fully recovered, so as to give me more time.

I move lay eyes on my attacker - he is a krogan – that would explain the deathgrip. With a dark green skintone and a big scary looking scar running horizontally across his face. I also notice he happens to carry a nasty looking dark orange shotgun, hetched to what looks like some sort of utility belt.

To summarize all relevant information; he punches lightyears above my weightclass.

Despite the very... "krogan looking" krogan standing directly infront of me, I can't help but wonder how I got here. Not exactly how I got to the mass effect universe in itself, I don't have time for that right now. What is more immediately relevant to my current...predicament however is why I for some reason seem to have woken up in a backalley, instead of on a walkway, where I...should be.

The fact that I consider, even as a fleeting figure of speech, a metal walkway in the wrong universe to be "where I should be" is probably moderately disturbing from more than one point of view.

Anyway, the important part here is that somehow my body must have been moved when I was out.  
What other possible explanation could there be?

Is the dear cuddling Krogan standing close to me responsible? Perhaps he moved my body to mug me when I would wake up... but then again, why would he do that – why not simply mug me while I was asleep? A possible explanation could be that he's a sadistic fuck who feels that toying with the existance of a small, misplaced human from another universe would make his day.

Just keep staying positive now.

Hmm, or he isn't responsible... I look down and see all my clothes lying in a neat pile beside me.

That's peculiar.. but... how...?

Apparently I'm fully dressed - Mass Effect style.

Somehow I doubt this being the work of the krogan trying to punish me for "knowing about Yoda".

I'm brought out of my mental ramblings by the sound of fingers cracking in a very "I'm about to brutalize every square millimetre of your body" way .

"Speak, human. Now."

Oh bollocks. The Krogan wants an answer. What the hell am I supposed to say? The Yoda he's thinking about is probably some big, nasty Krogan warlord person with a penchant for something...really scary! I am more screwed than a woman in Berlin, early may 1945.

Relevance is a beautiful thing.

"I said now!" His pair of fists smack together with a loud crack, and his loud form starts to menacingly move towards me.

I've gotta say something, so I might as well tell him the "truth".

"Look, I'm really, really sorry, but I've got a feeling we're not thinking about the same person." I stutter, and make an audible gulp.

The lumbering, giant toad looking alien takes one step towards me.

"Is that so? Because I only know one Yoda. " This man should be on trial for crimes against culture!

"And _noone _messes with Yoda." Ouch. I repeat again; I am infinately, royally fucked.

I'm desperate, and in a state of panic. I can't fight. I can't seem to be able to reason my way out of this. I can't do anything! In sheer desperation, I just blurt it all out;

"Look, the Yoda I know isn't even real, okay! I just bloody got here! For some reason I pass out on a walkway god knows where, then I find myself waking up next to this charming garbage dumpster, mumbling the name of a fictional character in my sleep." I take a step towards the Krogan, a look of desperation set upon my face. I gulp, hard, the realization that I have just stepped up to a Krogan hitting me in the face.

He narrows his eyes.

Gulp divided by zero.

"LookI'mrealysorrybutIreallydidn't mean anything,ok?", I say, with speed probably rivaling that of the fastest mass effect drives in this new, fucked up universe.

"The Yoda I know of is just a kind old green hobbit alien preaching about peace and harmony sitting in a cave on freaking Dagobah!" The Krogan looks stunned at this, clearly not expecting what I was saying.

"And you want to know what the best part is? _The best part is that he isn't even real!_" I say that with an almost maniacal sound in my voice. I don't want to die. Not over Yoda!

"In fact none of this is real either!" I say with the trademark voice proclaiming it's originator as the only mentally sane person in the universe. I bet that will work to my advantage.

"You even aren't _supposed_ to be real either! HAHAHA!" I laugh – fully aware of how insane I must be sounding, but not really caring much.

Krogan faces aren't very expressive, but the look of complete, jaw dangling shock etched upon his visage is evidently cross species.

"I-" the Krogan is about to begin.

"Don't you dare "I" me!" I walk up to him, a colourful mixture of desperation, frustration, righteous fury and what must look like insanity spread all over my face. I bring my face up close to his, our foreheads nearly bumping together. A few gallons of my saliva probably spill out into the Krogan's mouth through my hyperventilating, but I'm beyond caring now.

"I have no idea where I am, I*m completely lost, all I did was utter a random name in my sleep? _Cut me some slack!_" I let out a breath. That felt good.

Sure, it probably gave me a certain death sentence - but apart from that, it felt pretty peachy to yell at a Krogan.

The massive alien in question just looks compeltely baffled.

Hell yeah! Alex/ 1, scary space toad/ 0! OOOOH! Whatcha gonna do about it, biotch!

As if he would have heard me, he suddenly charges towards me, catching me completely by surprise, and eliminating nay previous chances I might have had for escape.

Well, my life sucked.

Didn't even get to have a real girlfriend. Ever. Never got a real job. Never graduated. Never finished university. Hell, I didn't even have time start test driving! Well, I guess it was okay for as long as it lasted. Bye world.

The Krogan reaches me, and wraps his arms around me, bringing me into a bear hug.

So it's death by crushing then. Beats torture and burning at least.

What happens next however, is something I did not even stop to consider. It's something so shocking, it makes Pearl Harbour look about as unexpected as the extra marital affairs of Italian presidents.

The big, half a ton beast that crushes my body against it's chest is starting to weep.

"I'm sorry, I over reacted!"

No shit. I feel his tears all over me, but it's less like tears, and more reminicent of the Niagara falls rolling down over my shoulders.

Between his sobs he just manages to get out, barely coherently;

"It's just... I...really... really...love Yoda!"

After barely managing to finish that sentence, my newfound heartbroken Krogan friend starts to actually whine, and lets out a loud cry of agony, expressing boundless regret for his actions.

This is getting abit uncomfortable. Not that I want his previous mental dispostion back, but that doesn't mean he has to be bipolar? Does it?

What the hell should I do, pat his head or something? Can't hurt I suppose...

Here goes nothing... please don't go back to being a psycopath mercenary hellbent on killing me!

I put my hand on the Krogan's shoulder. Patting gently. I also note inwardly that the Krogan I'm acting teddy bear for must have forgotten all the other parts of my rant. The ones about me "just getting here", "he not being real" and all that.

"There there, it's okay. I get it, you over reacted. I forgive you." I keep patting his shoulder.

"Just, calm down a little would you?" I add, a slight amount of desperation subconsiously creeping into my tone of voice. Drowning in Krogan tears is, although perhaps preferable over a lot of other ways of ending my days, still not exactly top on my wishlist.

I manage to make him take a break with the whole sobbing business for a couple of seconds.

"I just...really... love Star Force." And that was that. Then he goes back to the frantic sobbing and shaking on my shoulder again. Brilliant.

And Star Force? What the hell?

Then it hits me. The sheer absurdity of the entire situation smacks me straight in the face.

The Krogan in question is talking about Star _Wars._

And we're talking about the same Yoda.

A Krogan likes Yoda the Jedi Master so much he apparently considers defending his honour a matter of life and death.

If I would not be in the process of being crushed towards his enormous chest, I might have passed out on the ground in shock again.

Then completely unexpectadly, I can feel the force of the Krogans arms vanishing.

His sobs die down.

Suddenly, completely inexplicably - I am alone.

Then, before I have the time to make sense of what just happened to me, I hear a deep baritone flanging voice from behind.

"_Quite the character, is he not?"_

_

* * *

_

**And we have a cliffhanger! **

**To begin with I really want to thank AidanPryde001 and the anynomous reviewer "ShadowBroker" for reviewing. **

**Who are... the only two reviewers I've got so far. Which is unfortunate. **

**Still, I really like the positve criticism from you two, made me want to continue writing this. **

**Please review, that'd be very much appreciated. **

**LordOxen out. **


	3. III: Prepare for Unforseen Consequences

**If someone from Bioware reads this, they'll know what I own and what I don't. Don't sue me.**

**They're also quite free to use any story elements I've come up with... for a certain limited fee of course. ;)**

**Longer A/N at the end. **

**Chapter 3:**

_**III: "Prepare for unforseen consequences"**_

* * *

_**9th September 2185: Still somewhere I shouldn't be - **_**12:34 PM**_**  
**_

My body snaps around in shock.

Sitting on one of the many overflowing dumpsters in the backalley I currently happen to be in, is a Turian.

Wait...

There is something uncannily familiar about him.

At least I think it's a him, judging by the masculine, steely baritone voice of his – coupled with the fact that I never got to see any female Turians, and he looks identical to how I remember the species from the game.

His scales are in a light gray tone. He is dressed quite simply, but elegantly and clear cut. He wears what what looks like a simple white linen tunic, with matching pants, completely lacking in any ceremonial embroideries or the like. He also wears that weird little hat thing that seems to be customary for many Turians in important positions.

Then there's his facial markings. There isn't anything special about the colour – just a plain white. What catches my eye is the shape. Two semi circles, each spread about the corresponding half of his face. They're completely different from any markings I remember seeing in the Mass Effect universe.

The most noteworthy thing about him isn't his dresscode or appearance though - it's the aristocratic aura of distanced superiority which he seems to almost radiate.

Even here, on what clearly is one of the deepest cesspits in galaxy, the alien carries himself with nothing short of regal posture.

In other words, he's about as unconspicuous in his current environment as a great blue whale in the Sahara desert.

In the manner of a monarch temporarily stepping down from his postion of divine superiority, he reluctantly flicks away some grime that must have rubbed off on his pants from the dumptser he is currently seated upon.

Despite the undisputed respect his very prescence seems to demand, there is nothing frightening about him. For some inexplicable reason, I feel convinced that this Turian man is here to help me, and means me no harm.

The Dumpster Despot raises his head, from having looked down into his lap with theatrical slowness. He looks me in the eye, nodding downwards, towards the dirty ground, littered with the rotting remains of meals thrown away long ago, with a lightly disgusted grimace.

I ask the question that just begs to be posed.

"Should I know you?"

The Turian clasps his hands, and leans forward slightly, elbows on his thighs in a very analytical pose.

"A very intriguing human expression."

I blink.

That was unexpected.

"Is one truly capable of "knowing" another, in the full sense of the word?" He makes a dramatic pause.

Seeing as I just got here, I'm not an expert on interpreting the facial expressions of alien races, but I think he is staring at me intently with what a very analytical, perhaps even somewhat of a humourous expression.

The Turian bends his upper body downwards to and makes an elegant leap down from his dumpster throne, graciously making a perfect landing.

He looks down at his attire again, and nonchalantly uses both of his hands to clear it of some dust.

He slowly starts walking towards me.

"There is for example, not a single Turian dialect where asking if "one knows another" passes for an introduction." He stops a couple of metres infront of me.

"Perhaps that simple turn of phrase in itself is a small hint as to why your species is so interesting. Your kind consider yourselves to "know" someone, just by having made their acquaintance."  
He looks at me, the turian equivalent of a smile on his lips.

"Perhaps it's your species' self confidence that subliminally shows itself?" The tall, awe inspiring alien makes a sweeping gesture in the air with his hands. "I have met him, therefore I know him. Because there couldn't possibly be more to someone than "meets the eye" as you would say?" Interestingly enough he says this without the tiniest hint of condescension present in his voice. All there seems to be in it is genuine, philosophical curiousity.

We are very close now, there isat most half a metre between us. I hadn't noticed how intimidatingly tall he was from afar - he must be over two metres!

Now that I think of it, I suppose he seems like something of a Turian version of Gandalf, with that deep, but still kind voice of his, his simple white garb, his manners, and those gray eyes, that seem to be full of purpose.

"Or perhaps I am just committing the age old philosophical fallacy of overanalysing." He asks rhetorically, with an air of thoughtful consideration.

Really? The thought hadn't crossed my mind.

"Is it just a matter of "Occam's razor" - as you humans would say? That the simplest explanation - being that it is just a meaningless turn of phrase, is probably the most correct one, at least applied within a contemprary context." The dignified alien tilts his head to the side lightly, looking, if possible, even more thoughtful.

Allright enough of this, I need some answers!

"But is another context truly relevant, as we-" I firmly cut him off midsentence.

"Look, noramlly I'd love nothing more than debating abstract, barely relevant philosophical matters with someone I don't know, but at the moment" – I consciously let a hint of frustration creep into my voice - "At the moment, circumstances are sort of... unorthodox, yeah?" I finish firmly.  
The Turian stops, and stares at me intently with piercing gray eyes.

"Choosing you was correct then – you are ideal."

What does he mean "I am ideal"? Ideal for what? Could he be any less cryptic?

His constant blabbering that doesn't seem to get anywhere is getting on my nerves.

"I'm sorry, but would you mind explaining what it is you mean to someone not as divinely enlightenmened as thee?" I add, with enough snarkiness to sink an aircraft carrier.

I don't care if he takes offence, I've just appeared in the Mass Effect universe out of nowhere, with no clue as to why. This man seems to be able to answer a lot of my questions, and I'll be damned if I let him waste my time with cryptic platitudes!

To my great fury, he smiles his little cryptic Turian smile, and raise his mandibles somewhat.

"Yes, yes... you are a perfect fit." He says the "you" with a tone implying that I'm some sort of scientific specimen.

That's it, I've had enough.

I'm just about to start unleashing the storm of my frustrations upon him, when he starts to speak.

"But very well, I can understand how you want some answers – after all, this must all seem very confusing to you,", he makes a small pause "Alexander ****."

He knows my name! How the hell can he know my name!

"Who are you?" I ask, shocked.

"I had a name once, long ago. If you must call me something, you may call me Chronos." He looks directly into my eyes. "I imagine you might want to know why I have called you here."

He called me here? Chronos? Suddenly, my frustrations seem to vanish – all I feel is a great need to know why I was called here. A sense that that what he is saying is very crucial information.

On the plus side I already know how I got here. Baby steps.

"Y-Yes, I'd like that." I stutter, still shocked.

"Very well." He begins.

"I have searched throughout all of history, and have found that you are ideally suited for the path that has been set out for you."

"Throughout all of history"? Perhaps there is more to the name Chronos than sheer dramatic effect.

The question of how this little encounter impacts my stance as an atheist crosses my mind. I mentally postpone that for later. Now isn't the time.

"And what's that?"

He pauses for a moment.

"As you know, all civilized life is in peril."

"The Reapers? But... Mass Effect is just a video game!"

The sheer stupidity of that statement hits me the millisecond after the words have left my mouth.

Newsflash Alex, empirical evidence says otherwise.

"It's real, isn't it?" I add weakly.

"Look around you." He makes a grandiose sweeping motion with his right hand. "You're quite capable of answering that question on your own. If you wouldn't be, you would not have been chosen."

Duly noted.

He continues;  
"The "Reapers" as you choose to call them, are what I was refferring to, yes."

If he is cabale of travelling in time at will, it's logical to assume that he can see the future. And if that's true, the most probable reason for why I was transported here, is that the Reapers succeeded – and Shepard failed.

He smiles mysteriously.

"I see you have already managed to deduce the reason for bringing your here on your own."

I stumble back, away from him. He can read minds! My blood rushes in shock and, I'm not ashamed to admit it – a bit of fear.

He looks at me, makes a slight nod, and smiles an almost grandfatherley smile. That actually mangages to calm me somewhat.

"There is no need for distress, I already know all of your "secrets" He does a an airquote with his two fingers. "There is no need to be ashamed... after all, you're only human."

Well thank you, now everything's completely allright!

"Your sarcasm is uncalled for."  
I blink. This might take some time to get used to.

"But yes, you are right. If left unchanged, the future is one, where the Reapers will have won."

Huh. That rhymes. Wonder if that's intentional on his part? After all, a lot of old folk songs rhyme so that people can re-. Focus Alex!

"Why _me? _What makes me so special?"

"It is not just about you per se, but how your personilty, your values, ideals and abilities match with Shepard's."

"I still don't understand."

He makes a long, dignified sigh.

"Very well. In the future, Shepard will make a series of crucial mistakes that will ultimately doom the struggle against the Reapers. Replacing Shepard completely would disturb the timeline beyond predictability. It was deemed more convenient to simply..." He pauses, and seems to consider how to express himself, "...add an element to steer Shepard into making the correct decisions at crucial points in the timeline. You are that element."

"So you brought me here, took me away from everything I've ever known, because it was "the most convenient solution" for you? Because you were too lazy to perhaps choose someone who's life would not become completely destroyed by your little "plan"?"

Gee, it feels great to know that I've left my entire life behind me because I was the most "practical" solution. Never mind that there are people who care about me back home – the metaphysical being for whom time is evidently not relevant had to choose the most "time efficient" way?  
How considerate.

"Your anger is understandable, but know that despite what I may have led you to believe, time is an issue. The swifter you would have been brought here, the greater the chance of defeating the Reapers once and for all. You are mistaken in your belief that this is the first time we have intervened. It is not. This is however, the first time we have a considerable chance of success."

"We"? Perhaps his species - since he is clearly not Turian in anything besides appearance - is the anti- thesis of the Reapers? Maybe they're like the ascended ancients in the Star Gate Universe... or something. Maybe they built the Reapers?

A million similar questions passes through my head.

"Why is that? Why not help the Protheans, who had gotten a lot longer in their understanding of the mass relays than any of the Council species have? Why is this the first time you can succeed?"

"The current council races are special, not as much for their technological develeopment or might, but because of the fundamental difference this Reaper invasion has to all previous ones. The Reapers have not come through the Citadel relay. There is a chance for organic life to prepare. The importance of this cannot be overstated."  
He paces around the small area where we stand, talking to me.

"The increased chance of success the Council races have in repelling the Reapers have unfortunately resulted in the creation of completely new, and very severe problems for us, that have not occurred during any previous Reaper invasion." He turns his side towards me, makes a slight pause, and locks his gaze thoughtfully on the blinking synthetic lights that flicker at the entry to the backalley.

His voice takes on a gravelly tone.

"Problems bigger than the potential extinction of all currently sentient organic life."

That's...somewhat shocking. What could possibly fit the definition of "a bigger problem" than that?

Naturally, he answers my question.

"The nature of the are bigger issues that are at play here are beyond your comprehension – at least for the moment."

"I see." is all I can bring myself to answer – I have a distinct feeling that I won't get any more specific explanation reagarding said "bigger issues" anyway, so I decide to drop the matter.

"The original plan, was for you to be brought directly to Commander Shepard. Unfortunately, something went wrong when you were brought into this universe, so you have arrived here instead."  
"Where exactly is "here"?"  
"I believe this place is refferred to as "Omega"."

Oh no. Oh hell no.

Of all the places in the universe, do I really have to arrive on Omega? The myriad problems of me surviving on this station of piss and shit start to present themselves.

I don't know how to fight, I don't know how to get a job, I don't even know how to act tough!

How am I supposed to survive in this type of environment?

He might as well have put Mozart in the Harlem of the 70s!

"Fortunately for you, as well as the future of all galactic life, we have been able to make arrangements."

Oh. Hopefully those arrangements go further than giving me some armour, a gun, a pat on the head and then going "You're on your own boy, we're not here, but we believe in you!".

"Not to worry, we have included those articles as well – you might need them in the future, after all. But you will not be on your own. You are to remain with Kargesh – I believe you two are already acquainted."  
Oh. So I've got a big, bipolar krogan with moodswings to watch my back. How comforting.

Oh well. On the plus side I've got a gun I don't know how to use and armour I don't have the faintest idea how to get into. Sweet.

"He shall see to your needs until you are able to meet up with Shepard – which I assure you, will be as soon as possible. You will probably not have to remain on Omega for more than a couple of days."

That's something anyway.

I've still got a thousand questions left to ask him though.

"I still don't understand what makes me so special. How am I supposed to know when these" - I make an air quote - "crucial moments are?"

"You will know, that's why you were chosen. You are ideal for influencing Shepard in the right path."

"Are you saying I'm infallible?" I ask, with tone of hopefulness.

The Turian looks condescendingly at me.

"Not quite. You will still need to use your intellect."

What a pity.

"And remember, you are still fallible when it comes to individual matters. The chances of you failing overall if you do not make an effort are not completely neglecatble either. You're statistically expected to have the best overall effect on Shepard's decisions, nothing more."

Okay, that makes some sense I suppose.

I am about to ask all the other questions I'm sitting on, when he starts to walk away towards the end of the back alley. I quickly walk after him.  
"Wait – I've got so many questions to ask you!"

"Undoubtedly you do. Unfortunately time is of the essence. Shepard must be apprised of your arrival, and there are other matters that require attention."  
We are now at the beginning, or end of the back alley – depending on your point of view. I can clearly see the flashing neon signs of nighclubs, bars and shops behind.

"You will not accompany me further – Omega is a dangerous place, it is not safe for you to do so. Kargesh will join you again shortly. Remain here."

He walks away into the hustling and bustling beyond the entrance.

"Wait!" I yell after him.

He turns around.

"Will I ever get to return home again?"

Chronos makes eye contact with me, emphasising the importance of whatever he is about to say.

"_Prepare for unforseen consequences."_

_

* * *

_

**My thanks to "Shadowbroker" and Hexagonal for their reviews. More reviews are very much appreciated. The more revies I get, the faster my update pace is going to be. **

**Thanks to all my readers so far. **

**The umm... unfortunately rather limtied amount of readers I currently have might be glad to hear that my speed of updating is probably going to improve a lot, as the holidays are approaching.  
Expect at least three more chapters before the holiday season is over. **

**I may or may not follow the official Mass Effect 3 storyline, depending on how far my story has progressed before the game has been released. Anyway, don't expect any big epic struggles with invading reapers for...a long time. **

**Oh, and thanks to everyone that has subscribed to this story. AidenPryde, among others. **

**LordOxen out.**


	4. IV: No pressure

**I don't own anything I don't.**

**I'll be honest, I haven't really had a sense of where I was taking this story. **

**That has all changed now however – a vision has presented itself, and it was most glorious indeed.**

**This has unfortunately meant that I've had to change a few things in the Introduction with the Illusive man in the first chapter. I'm sorry for the confusion, but it was very necessary. **

**So, in order to understand this chapter, perhaps it is necessary for my older readers to go back and re read the first part of Chapter 1. It's shortened, and less than 500 words, so it shouldn't be too much trouble.**

**Pardon the confusion.**

**Anyway, let's begin people – Just Walk through the Doors starts NOW!**

_**IV: No pressure**_

_**9**__**th**__** September 2185: Unknown Cerberus Facility – 13:40 **_

The reclining man took out another cigarette from a pocket in his elegantly tailored black and white jacket.

He lighted it, choosing to wait for his conversational partner's reaction to the new information he had revealed behind a rideau of smoke. The man exhaled the smoke in the form of a dusty cloud, reminicent of the many forms of nebulae spread across the vast galaxy.

"This dossier is special Shepard. At first, you might feel tempted to dissmiss certain parts of the information in those files as inaccurate or..." the Illusive man took a blow on his cigarette, "...perhaps even as typing errors."

The Soldier leaned back, arms crossed in a skeptical expression.

"I have a feeling there's alot more to this than you're letting on."

_If you wouldn't sense I wasn't telling you the whole story, I would be questioning the value of having brought you back... _He took another blow on his cigarette.

_That, however is not in itself an argument for letting you in on what's really going on here. _

"You are right to be sceptical Shepard, but know that I have it on very good authroity that _he,_ might prove to be a very important, perhaps even critical addition to your team. You will need as strong a team as you can get for your raid on the Collector homeworld."

The Illusive man paused, and reclined in his chair dramatically.

"There is more to the information in that dossier than meets the eye."

Shepard made a curt nod.

"I'll look into it."

"That is all I ask. My sources inform me that he is currently on Omega. As you are already on your way there to pick up Archangel and Doctor Mordin Solus, now would be an excellent oppurtunity to try looking for him."

"Anything else?"

"Try meeting up with this new candidate as soon as possible. If you take to long, there might be... consequences."

The hologram flickered, and finally dissapeared.

A look of apprehension spread across the Illusive Man's visage. He turned his chair towards the star behind him. He blew out his smoke in the direction of the star, the cloud seemingly vanishing into the vast emptiness of the universe.

_Just like there might be for all of us if we don't act quickly enough. _

"Quite correct."

_I don't think I'll ever get used to that._

"Few ever do."

The man chose to ignore his new conversational partner's remark, and instead looked pensively into the holographic projection before him, letting his thoughts move together with the star's dance of blue and red.

"I'm still not sure this is wise."

"I'm taking a huge gamble listening to you, adding someone without any combat and military experience what so ever to Shepard's team defies all forms of conventional wisdom. Taking what you've told me about his personality and manners into account, Shepard might not even end up recruiting him! For all we know, he could just as easily simply dissmiss him as a bad joke".

"I will interwene, should complications arise."

"He is sixteen. That is a complication in itself."

"We have both reached the conclusion that bringing him here in his adolescent form, with all the positive and negative consequences it entails is in all likelyhood the most effective way overall to stop Shepard from falling from the right path. Debating this again serves no purpose."  
The speaker made a short pause, letting his words sink in.

"This is the best solution for improving the odds of all organic life succesfully repelling the Reaper invasion. You know this to be true, do not let your petty objections get in the way of better judgement."

The seated man nodded, grudgingly accepting the truth behind the speaker's words.

"And anything that improves our odds against the reapers are in line with Cerberus' goals."

"We are in agreement, then."


	5. V: Reality doesn't go away

**See disclaimer in previous chapters.**

**Longer A/N at the end.**

**I'm really sorry about the delayed update time.**

**Real life proved to be very distracting. That is all I have to say in my defence. **

**This chapter is a lot longer though (About twice as long as a "normal" one). Hopefully you'll feel somewhat compensated by that. **

**Enjoy!**

**

* * *

**

_**V: "Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn't go away"**_

_**

* * *

**_

**2185, September 9th: _Normandy SR2_ – 13:47**

Stepping out of the Normandy's briefing room, commander John Shepard couldn't help but feel slightly intrigued by what the Illusive man had just told him.

Opening the door from the adjacent corridor to the armoury, he played the conversation in his head again.

Despite only having met Cerberus' illusive leader thrice, and never once in person – not physically that is, the seasoned marine had a distinct feeling that the man was hiding something, presumably regarding his latest addition to the list of potential team members.

Walking through the armoury, the commander made a nonchalant wave of acknowledgement towards Jacob, together with a respectful utterance of the soldier's name.

_Seeing as I've just met the guy, and probably will spend a lot of time with him in the future, getting to know him better and giving him some recognition might not be a bad idea. _

_He seems friendly enough... and from what I can tell, he's hardly a Cerberus lap dog. _

_He does seem to look at me in a certain fan-boyish light though..._

At being addressed by his commander Jacob literally jumped to attention, snapping a flawless salute and almost yelling "Sir!" in a tone of voice implying pride of such magnitude in serving under the esteemed commander that he'd shoot himself in the foot if it would so happen as to amuse said saviour of the Galaxy.

Shepard mentally groaned.

_On the other hand, I haven't really gotten to know the rest of the crew yet..._

The commander allowed himself a small smile.

_Can't say I blame him though. I am kinda awesome._

Smiling, he quickly waved a sign of "at ease" backwards as he confidently walked towards, and opened the door into the CIC. Shepard kept walking towards the elevator with long purposeful strides, the man's concentrated exterior masking his thoughts' drifting back to the content of his newly acquired dossier.

"Councillor Anderson would like to see you on the Citadel when you have time, commander," the freckly, red- headed Yeoman Kelly Chambers chirpily informed him.

"Thank you Kelly," the commander replied, walking past the starry eyed yeoman into the elevator.

"Anything else?" Shepard asked, taking up position in the elevator, his hand ready to press the button for the captain's quarters as soon as he received a reply.

"Nothing else for now commander."  
"Have Joker notify me when we arrive on Omega. That is all."  
Pressing the button making the elevator ascend to the captain's quarters, Shepard straightened up, clasped his hands behind his back, assuming a posture emitting authority as the doors closed.

* * *

_Highly intelligent. Most notable characteristic is the possession of an extraordinarily sound general judgement – applicable to almost any matter. Able to speak five human languages without translator. Vast knowledge of obscure and tactically unimportant subjects, including, among others, early 21st century culture and history. _

_No combat experience, zero weapons handling, prone to panic attacks_

"_The Advisor", as he is known, is rumoured to be a strategic mastermind of Napoleonic proportions. The most notable thing about this"gift" is not it's refinement, but rather how it tends to appear as a "hunch", and subliminally reflects itself in all actions the Advisor undertakes._

_Nothing else is really known about him, besides the fact that he is a young human male, probably of European descent, and always accompanied by a Krogan accomplice that goes by the name of "Yoda Kargesh". The pair are currently living in an unknown location somewhere in Omega's market district. Potentially very important for the success of the mission. _

A blink.

Two.

Three.

"No combat skills?"

The commander was utterly baffled, and couldn't help but state that bafflement out loud.

"Zero weapons handling?"

_So... Cerberus' asking me to recruit some random dipshit...because he's got a great gut feeling? _

_If that's what matters for my mission, why couldn't good ol' Timmy boy just have asked me to put the Consort on my team? At least that way I'd get some... "gratification" for all the quasi-spiritual mumbo jumbo they'd base their "advice" on. _

_Hehe. Heh._

The Commander was pulled from his musings by Joker's voice crackling through the intercom;

"We're arriving on Omega now commander, thought you might want to know... you asking me to "notify you" and all," Joker notified him.

"Thanks Joker, great," Shepard answered distantly, what he had just read still having a strong grip over his mind.

"Umm...commander, are you all-right?", the pilot asked, his commander's distant tone not passing unnoticed. Which really made it more of a statement and less of an inquiry.

"Just peachy."

"If you say so commander."  
A thought crossed Shepard's mind.

"Joker, could you ask EDI something?"

"You could always ask her yourself commander, seeing as I'm kinda busy making sure the ship doesn't get beaten into a metal pulp by the irregular mass effect fields or uncontrolled Omega traffic at the moment."

_I only got aboard half an hour back, and I just woke up from...death less than a day ago. Why can't the world just cut me some slack?_

Choosing not to reply anything to his helmsman's sarcasm- drenched comment, Shepard posed his question aloud to the ship's AI;  
"EDI?"

"Yes Shepard."

"Are there any Krogan clans on Tuchanka that go by the name of Yoda?"

* * *

**2185, September 9th: _Somewhere not very pretty, Omega_ – 14:14**

"Prepare for unforeseen consequences..."...

You'd think with that Chronos guy being a demi god and all, he should be creative enough to come up with something more original than that...

I mean come on... that can't have been anything but an intentional steal from Half Life!

Now is really the first time since I've got that I have time to take a good look around. I do that.

The whole place really isn't that different from the Omega I remember from the game.

Then again, destitute slums have a tendency to be quite reminiscent of each other no matter the location. Chances of that probably increase somewhat if said locations are on the same space station... But yeah, the gray metal, the yellowish lightning with tinges of green - it's all familiar.

The stench.

Because you totally got to smell Omega in game, right?

Come to think of it, that could be an interesting addition to Mass Effect 3 – the ability to smell in-game places. EA could send like... a "perfume sample" with the collector's edition... or something.

"_If you pre-order the collector's edition of Mass Effect 3 now, you will also get one exclusive fragrance from the Mass Effect Universe! Perhaps "Fumes of Omega", "Celestial Citadel" or the rare "Tuchanka Tulips"! Pre-order now!" (EA and partners are not responsible for any possible side effects such as rashes, unwanted pregnancies or damage of higher cognitive functions)._

Heh. Wouldn't that be something...

Seeing as I'm already quite acquainted with the back-alley, I decide that sticking my head out the entrance just a little to satisfy my curiosity can't hurt. I mean, how dangerous can Omega really be?

I look around.

Hmmm.

There's something that catches my eye... I can't quite put my finger on it though...

Yes! That's it!

I knew I saw something familiar.

It's a yellow neon sign that just so happens to read "Harrot's emporium".

Harrot's emporium. If I'm not mistaken, then that's that pesky Elcor who refuses to let that Quarian dude... Kenn... set his own prices, or something like that.

Big deal, the important part is that I'm in (or at least close to) parts of Omega's market district I saw in the game!

I deserve a metaphysical cookie for my observational skills. Way to go!

Heh... that must be the first time I ever said something like that without even the slightest hint of ironic undertones. Fascinating.

Anyway, this is fantastic news on so many levels.

If something bad would happen to me – not that I expect it too, but if it would, then hopefully I'm at least not a complete stranger to the local area.

Perhaps even better; I'm also relatively close to where the Normandy lands in the game, which hopefully means that I can join up with Shepard in a much shorter amount of time, seeing as he won't have to look for me as far. Perhaps I could even come to him...

Spending as little time as possible in this dump would be great.

Suddenly, I am pulled away from my scouting, a strong hand grabbing me by my collar.

"_What did he tell you!_" I am reprimanded by a booming voice.

My assailant pulls me up from the ground as if I were a rag-doll, bringing me face to face with him.

Oh.

My Krogan babysitter. Right.

He uses his grip on my collar to pull me even closer to him. So close to his face in fact that I can feel the rhythmic exhales and inhales of his breathing.  
"Do. Not. Go. Beyond the entrance," he enlightens me, like a principal, (albeit a Krogan one) lecturing an unruly schoolboy – shaking my body with each word to emphasise the point.

"Sorry", I gulp.

Not as much in fear as in respect though. He doesn't seem to be as angry with me this time – more annoyed.

Well, I suppose you could say that at least this time, I don't feel like he could rip my head off.

Not without some semblance of an excuse anyway.

The Krogan lets me down on the ground with a thud.

"Come on."

He passes me and heads off in the opposite direction, presumably heading towards a door at the end of the back alley I think I might have caught a glance of earlier.

As he walks, I can't help but notice his hideously coloured dark orange shotgun "jumping" with every step he takes, bumping into his thigh.

That must be horribly uncomfortable.

I follow him into the back alley... again.

After having walked about half the distance to the door, my feet bump into something on the ground. I look down.

What I am staring at is a pile of all the clothes and other accessories that I had with me when I got here. My gray, coat like jacket thing, a light blue shirt with long sleeves, a pair of beige chinos, my dear loafers, and of course - my black leather satchel.

On top of my satchel, I find my beloved iPhone, together with my wallet and keys and watch.

Right.

This reminds of the fact that I am wearing Mass Effect style clothing. There is a puddle next to the pile of my belongings. Quite predictably, I look into it, observing my reflection.

I cringe - I've never really liked the whole "tight sci-fi t-shirt and "cool" pants" look.  
I look wantingly at my plain blue shirt, lieing crumpled in the pile cotaining the rest of my clothes.  
Maybe it's me being snotty, but couldn't the people who brought me here have given me something more fashionable?

You're on Omega, Alex – has it occurred to you that looking inconspicuous might be a good thing?

Right. Good point me.

Me 1/ Other half of me...0?  
I'm once again brutally ripped from my reverie by a booming Krogan voice.

"Are you coming?"

I look up, and start to scurry away towards my Krogan babysitter, who is holding the door and looking at me with a moderately annoyed glare.

"Right, sorry."

When I get to the door, he just stares at me with an even more annoyed glare.

"I'm not gonna grab your things for you."

I look at him, dumbfounded for a second, before I remember what he means.

"Right!"

I quickly walk back to the pile of my personal effects, throwing the satchel over my shoulders, and lazily press my former clothing into it. The iPhone and wallet I put in my pockets.

I walk back to the Krogan at the door.

He continues to stare at me, his eyes tracing my movements.

Arriving at the door, the Krogan fixes my eyes with a piercing glare.

"Is there anything else I should ask if you forgot to bring with you?"

I stop to think for a second – not because I believe that I've actually forgotten anything, but because of the terrible awkwardness that would arise should I have forgotten anything.

"No." I answer after a due moment of deliberation.

"Isn't it a human custom for ladies to walk through the door first?"

The huge alien sneers at me.

Oh for fucks sake. You're bigger and stronger, and apparently more observant than I am (this time, anyway), I get it – do you have to use that to...rub my face in the metaphorical ground?

I have difficulties bringing myself to believe this really is the same Krogan who ad a mental breakdown and wanted to be cuddled in my arms less than 10 minutes ago.

"Yeah, yeah..." I answer.

Fortunately he doesn't respond anything to that.

The satchel bumping into my right thigh as I walk, I can clearly feel the bundle of clothes inside of it "bumping with my moves", so to speak. It's not particularily comfortable.

Heh... wonder if Kargesh's shotgun bumping into his upper thigh was more or less annoying...

The bundle of my clothes are in my satchel.

My removed clothes.

Clothes that someone removed from my body.

Someone removed my clothes from my body.

Fucking brilliant.

Pleasantly enough, I quickly think of the fact that my socks and underwear were not present in the heap on the ground – which hopefully means that I still have them on.

Just to be safe, I grab my trousers and pull them out from my body, to see if am wearing the same pair of underwear I put on this morning.

Yup – and I'm positive I feel the texture of my shoes against the horrid contemporary boots that are evidently violating my feet.  
That's somewhat redeeming anyway.

"Is it a human thing to pull out your pants and look down into your groin when you walk?"

Is it a Krogan thing to pick on the small and physically weak?

Of course it is, silly question.

I feel that I need to give him some sort of answer, just to show him I'm not a complete pushover.

"Hey, could you forgive me for wanting to check if you people had only violated me partially or-"

The Krogan swiftly interrupts my rebuttal.

"Fine, get it. Don't care. Walk."

I can already sense how we're going to get along just superbly.

* * *

**2185, September 9th: **_**Afterlife – Aria's Lounge, Omega**_ **– 14:25**

"I was told that you're the person to talk to if I have questions."

Despite the idiot Batarian goon wanting to scan him, Shepard chose to be diplomatic about it.

The feeling that these morons should know better than to make demands from the Spectre who took down Saren and an army of Geth almost entirely on his own does cross the Commander's mind however...

"Depends on the questions."

"You run Omega?"

The purple skinned, arrogant Asari Empress of Omega makes a demonstrative laugh, and turns around, so that her back is towards the ex-Spectre who posed the question.

She flamboyantly walks forward towards the front of the podium overlooking the hustling and bustling on the floor below – when she reaches the railing, she raises her hands in a dramatic gesture.

"I am Omega."

Being the covert history nerd he was, the obvious associations to Louis XIV did not go lost on Shepard. He did not like pretentious Asari making poor ripoffs of epic human historical quotes.

_Right, because Aria actually having heard of a 17th century French king is totally probable..._

Shepard mentally reprimanded himself somewhat.

After this redundant and excessive demonstration of power, she turned around dramatically, staring out to the side of the lounge, her back toward Shepard.

"But you need more. Everyone needs more something and they all come to me."

She made yet another dramatic turn, and started pacing in front of the newly arrived guests.

"I'm the boss, CEO, queen if you're feeling dramatic."

_She really strikes me as a very down to earth person... I mean, there can't even be a hint of pretentiousness in there!_  
She turned Shepard again, facing him.

"It doesn't matter. Omega has no titled ruler and only one rule."

The purple Asari slowly sat down on the couch behind her, pausing.

"Don't fuck with Aria."

_Coming from her mouth... That just sounds wrong._

_Besides, I bet she wouldn't mind... Heh...Heh. _

_Focus! Idiot! _

Shepard couldn't help but thinking that perhaps he should introduce Aria to the Illusive Man, – given their shared passion for the unnecessarily dramatic.

Just playing along and accepting the Asari's authority would probably be a good plan for getting his information the most efficient way, Shepard thought.

_Besides... lulling a potential enemy into the belief that you're more of a pushover than you actually are is usually good tactics._

"I like it. Easy to remember.", the Commander responded, coupled with a masking diplomatic smile.

"If you forget, someone will remind you." the Asari said, in a brutish attempt to unnecessarily assert her authority.

_Could we actually talk about relevant stuff, instead of standing around playing "mine's bigger" all day?_

Fittingly, the Batarian goon had to join in the spectacle.

"And then I toss your sorry ass out the nearest airlock."  
Shepard joined Aria on the couch.

_Enough bullshit._

"I'm trying to track down Archangel."

"You and half of Omega. You want him dead too?"

_Shouldn't a 600 year old Asari know better than to believe a Spectre has any vested interest in strengthening a couple of mercenary groups?_

Of course, the experienced matron could just be playing the same game Sheaprd was – appearing less intelligent than was actually the case.

"I'm putting a team together, he's on my list."

Sheaprd immediately regretted what he said as soon as the words left his mouth. Why admit that to Aria? Presumably, she would not have a problem with him going in guns blazing to save "Archangel"- as the presumed weakening of the rest of Omega presumably served her interests.

Still, Shepard couldn't help but get annoyed at himself for his potentially dangerous slip of the tongue.

"Interesting. You're going to make some enemies teaming up with Archangel," the crimelord replied pensively.

"That's assuming you can get to him," she continued.

"He's in a bit of trouble right now."

"Just tell me where to find him."

"The local merc groups are recruting anyone with a gun to help them take down Archangel."  
"Sounds like that might be our ticket in.", Jacob remarked, redundantly, but none the less comfortably, stating what was already understood between the lines.

"They're using a private room for recruting – just over there. I'm sure they'll sign you up," Aria responded nonchalantly.

"I appreciate the help.", Shepard responded simply.

"See if you still feel that way when the mercs realize you're here to help him."

That was one new recruit off of the list. Two more to go.

* * *

After ascertaining the location of the Salarian Mordin Solus, it was time to inquire as to the location of the third squad member.

"There's one other thing."

Shepard hesitated.. He had a hunch, and impulse if you will, that for some reason, Aria would not have any information about the whereabouts of his last target for recruitment.

He decided to try anyway – it couldn't hurt. Could it?

"Do you know where I can find a man called "The Advisor".

The female looking alien looked at Shepard with a mixture of thoughtfulness and surprise.

"The Advisor? Do you mean Patriarch – because he's down in the lower parts of the club if you're looking for him. Probably telling his fans old Krogan war stories...Ha." Aria laughed somewhat cruelly.

At this Miranda jumped into the conversation before Shepard had any time to ask for details.

"No, it's not Patriarch. The man we're looking for is a young human male."

At Shepard's somewhat disgruntled look, Miranda merely gave him a quick "I've been here before and know my way around" kind of look.

_Fair enough... at least that was a useful interruption... unlike others'. Spares time._

The Asari shook her head, and leaned back into the couch.

"Sorry Shepard, I'm going to need more than that."

"He's always followed by a Krogan companion that goes by the name of Yoda Kargesh."

_Why do I get a feeling that this"Advisor" guy isn't very well known..._

At this the Asari raised what would have been one of her eyebrows in a sceptical pose.

"Kargesh? What do you want with that... thing?"

"Just tell me where to find him."

_Didn't I say that once already?  
Maybe I should be like...a tad more creative than using "Just tell me where to find him" as my ultimate badass doubt deflector twice._

_Again – concentrate._

_I really need to sleep... and eat something. Not at the same time though..._

_Just shut up._

"He's somewhat of a...character, you know. Perhaps you won't mind his little quirks though – seeing as you're human." The Asari remarked thoughtfully.

"Oh, and he lives in an apartment in the market district." The Asari added quickly, to rid Shepard of the unnecessary need to re-ask his question.

"I can upload the coordinates to your omni-tool if you want."

"That's all, thanks for the info." Shepard made an affirmative nod in gratitude towards the Asari and stood up from the couch, starting to leave.

Aria merely nodded.  
"Let's go.", the commander said, cocking his head in the universal badass gesture of "move out in the direction my head is nodding."

The Cerberus henchmen were just preparing to follow him in the implied direction, when Aria stopped him.  
"Wait."  
Shepard turned around.

"Just out of curiosity, why are you looking for...", her face made a distasteful grimace, "... him?".

"Because my sources tell me he can lead me to the advisor."

_Didn't I start by saying that?_

"Just a word of advice Shepard, if this "Advisor" is anything like Kargesh, you might not want to be looking for him in the first place."

* * *

**2185, September 9th: _Market District, Omega – _14:39**

On the positive side, the Krogan's apartment isn't any more shabby, dilapidated and overall worse for wear than I expected.

Which is something anyway.

The apartment is basically one rectangle, divided into three smaller rectangular rooms:

A main living room coupled with a small kitchen, a bedroom and what I think is a bathroom.

The best way to describe the living room is by saying that it has this typical, "dingy Omega" look.

About half the living room space is taken up by the kitchen, a kitchen table and chairs – the other half has a coffee table, couch and what I think is a weapons or armour locker behind the couch, judging by the fact that it is in metal and has a big lock on the door.

Ha.

Apparently people still use padlocks in the 22nd century.

Whaddayknow.

The kitchen looks like it was last cleaned during earth's Jurassic geological period, what, with the green, diarrhoea coloured splatter covering the worktops together with all other surfaces.

Something I notice is how disappointingly similar all the kitchen appliances look to 21st century ones. And I who had hoped for some cool sci- fi goodies.  
I almost feel like saying ; "Son – I am dissapoint." to my dear Krogan custodian.

Somehow I imagine the humour would be lost on him though.

Currently, I am reclining in the sofa situated in the middle of the room. Which is kinda funny – not the fact that I am reclining in a sofa - but the fact that the sofa seems to be identical to _the_ Sofa I remember from Mass Effect.

Meaning of course the striped black and white one which always reminds me of some weird liquorice and fudge mix. Except the fudge's white.

I really wish the game designers at Bioware could have had abit more creativity whith details like that. They could at least have created several different colours schemes for it or something... I mean come on, how difficult can it be?

I only hope the selection of furniture in this version of the Mass Effect universe is somewhat more... varied.

Kargesh is standing in the kitchen – cooking, by the looks of it.

I say "by the looks of it" because of the certain feeling of unedibility the way the meal looks inspires in me.

So here I am.

On chronically shitty Omega.

In a shitty apartment, with a shitty Krogan, who's preparing a shitty looking meal.

In fact, it wouldn't surprise me if the meal was actual shit.  
Feeling shitty.

The irony of this whole bloody mess of a situation isn't lost on me.

Being the somewhat childishly inclined teenager I was, and still am, I suppose you could say, I've always dreamed about being transported into the Mass Effect universe.

The world - my world, has always struck me as dull. Backwards.

On more than one occasion, as a kid, I've felt that the world was so meaningless, lacking in scope and depth.

We were just one species, living on one planet among trillions of others. What meaningful impact did our existance have upon the vastness of the universe?

Despite all our culture, our accomplishments, our marvellous feats of civilization – we had really no power to influence anything beyond the infinitesimal blue orb which we called home.

No chance to leave a lasting legacy.

If we were to fall from Lady Fortuna's good graces... If a meteorite impact, or some other cosmic phenomenon so far from our control – then all our work, everything humanity had ever accomplished would have been for nothing.

We would vanish, our ashes being forever dissolved in the unyielding winds of the history.

And we might as well never have been.

In fact, there wouldn't even be _a history – _because who would be left to tell our tale?

To tell _any_ tale?

Now I'm here.

In a place where all my preconceptions of our, and by extension my own place in the universe have been proven completely utterly false.

A large part of me should be happy – I should be ecstatic at the sheer scale of this new universe,with a thousand alien cultures and languages, and a million times more opportunities than where I came from. A chance to make a lasting difference in the universe, in history!

Isn't that what I've always dreamed of?

"Ecstatic" is not how I feel, sitting on my corner of the liquorice coloured sofa.

I feel tiny, miniscule and out of place.

I just want to go home.

There is a strong urge within me to start crying – and it really takes all of my mental energy just to contain the tears that threaten to swell over at any moment.  
Concentrate! Think your situation through. Rationally.

I need something to hold onto, because if I break down now, there will be no compassion for me.

No one to tell me that everything is going to be all right – no one here I can rely on.

There is no one, in this entire goddamn universe that I can trust – besides one person.

Me.

I need to focus on the present – because dwelling on the past or dreaming about the future will not help me to escape from my current predicament.

All it that would accomplish would be to make me insane with grief.

And I can't afford that.

From what I can go on, I've been placed here for a reason – to help save humanity, and all the rest of the Mass Effect universe from extinction.

Isn't that more important than _me_?  
And even if it isn't, even if Mass Effect is only a video game, and this is some... virtual reality created by some sick fuck for his own amusement – or, if I somehow crossed the bridge to insanity during my English A course exam, and all the contents of this universe are constituted by nothing but my mind's delusional fantasies...  
I slap myself.

Hard.

Then again.

And again.

And again.

It hurts.

What was it someone said... Reality is the pain that doesn't go away when you get punched in the face?

Even if this whole world is nothing but my imagination, or a dream, or something...

Then, it seems that, right now, I've got no choice but to convince myself that there are issues more important than the people caring for me back home, that there are issues more important than me, and whether I really belong here.

There are times when your previously held convictions must be thrown out the window – even if you are completely and utterly certain that they are true.

If empirical evidence tells you otherwise – you don't have a choice in the matter.

You must show yourself to be the master of your own mind_. _Should you fail, then there won't be a mind left. Not a sane one anyway.

There won't be a you.

This is my reality. Saving galactic life. _I_ am crucial.

Adapt.

Suddenly, a mechanical ping is heard, followed by a calling to table by _le chef._

"Dinner is ready. Eat. Or don't. More for me that way."

It would seem that reality has caught up with me.

Just as I rise from the couch, and take my seat at the dinner table, there is a brutish knock on the door.

"You Yoda Kargesh?" what I think is a vaguely human sounding voice asks.

The Krogan quickly rises from the table, and casts a quick look at me.

His thick, reptilian lips utter one sentence.

"Get in the closet."

I close my eyes.

I open them again.

Kargesh just looks at me as if I had some of mental disorder.

"Get. In. The. Closet."

I can't help but smile bitterly.

"_Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn't go away."_

_

* * *

_

**A/N:**

**Please keep reading.  
I really appreciate all the comments I've gotten since last time. **

**Four new comments! Hell yeah, I think this fanfic is going to make the NYT best seller list.**

**Irony aside, I can't exactly blame anyone but myself for that given my slow update pace. **

**But it's more than for any previous chapter, so at least... that's positive. **

**Thanks. **

**A lot.**

**Thanks also to my loyal reader "Shadowbroker" for his review which is brilliant, as well as to Sparty McFly and Dr. Tal. Your positive feedback (especially seeing as it's "new" positive feedback) is very much appreciated.**

**And last but absolutely in no way least there's the review from Sarge1995. Thank you!**

**If you've got time, check out his "The Outsider", especially if you're into self insert fics.**

**You can find him and "The Ousider" on my profile.**

**Thank you to all my readers for well...reading.**

**Until we meet again.**

**LordOxen out.**


End file.
